Resurrection
by Damascene
Summary: Tia Dalma brought Capt. Barbossa back from death, but how? This is my speculation on her methods. Slight BarbossaOC, about which I feel terrible. But taking Elizabeth for my own purposes would have left gaping plot holes in the rest of DMC... read!
1. Prologue: Tia Dalma's Dilemma

**Prologue**

Tia Dalma needed Captain Hector Barbossa alive. Unfortunately as things stood at the moment, he was very much dead. Not undead; no longer cursed to appear alive to the eyes, but suffer a kind of death that only the damned can suffer. Hector Barbossa was plain old moldering dead. Or, he would have been moldering had not Tia Dalma made every effort to stop the decay while she considered her options. To say she was annoyed would have been the most egregious understatement possible.

"Jack Sparrow!" she spat, her skirts rustling softly as she paced. "Jack Sparrow! I could _kill _dat man!" She spat again, crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes.

"If I didn't need him alive, too," she added as an afterthought.

She returned to pacing. She needed nine pirate lords, all of them in some condition resembling life. It followed, she thought, to divine a way to resurrect Barbossa. But bringing a man back from the dead, well… it was not something one did every day. She knew only that it had been done before, a handful of times in history, and that it could be done now if only she – She was surprised to find that she did not know how. The finding out would be the hardest part. It was best, she decided, to begin soon. Walking to the door she smiled to herself and whispered a few words into the dark, moonless night.

There was a soft, damp breeze siphoning through the twisted trees. Tia Dalma sniffed the musky air. It was a perfect night for new beginnings, she thought as she caught deftly in her hand the small night-creature with large, round eyes that had come at her words. Turning swiftly she pulled a dagger from some unknown pocket and slit the creature's belly, letting the contents fall onto a stunted table. The little animal had not even had the time to utter a cry and Tia Dalma paid it no more attention. She focused all of her attention on reading the entrails. Her laughter began quietly, and quickly grew to a crescendo. She stood and surveyed everything around her in apparent bemusement.

"Someone who love him!" she laughed. "Somebody who love him will be able to bring him back, back from death!" Her laughter died away as she considered the problem at hand, a problem possibly insurmountable. She walked to the doorway and sniffed the night air once more, as if hoping it could give her an answer. Nothing.

"Nobody love him," she muttered darkly. "Nobody I ever known could love dat man…." Another oracle, then, she decided. Another oracle would hold the solution, if she asked the right question. She drew from a deep pocket somewhere a handful of bones. They could have been knuckles; they could have been toe bones. Squatting, she shook them. She blew on them. She shook them some more, and threw them. They rattled across the floor before coming to a rest. Her breath was little more than a hiss as she surveyed the results.

"How could dat be? Somebody far away, somebody dat never met him. Somebody far away… in… time. It looks like time."


	2. Chapter One: Evie's Fascination

**A/N:** Well, this chapter introduces my OC, Evie. We will shortly return to the efforts of Tia Dalma. In the mean time, I hope you enjoy!

**Chapter One: Evie's Fascination**

Eve Destin stood from her chair and stretched herself like a cat. She pushed her glasses off of the bridge of her nose and rubbed her eyes. Then she pulled her long dark hair away from her face and piled it on top of her head in a messy sort of bun. She had just spent her pathetically meager lunch hour grading tests, and she was ready for a break. Unfortunately for her, the bell began to ring. It was time for fourth hour history. She was not thrilled. Forty minutes later, she couldn't take any more.

"Alright, class. I'm going to tell you a secret. You may not have noticed this, as enthralled as you all have been in your study of history. However, I feel it is my duty to inform you – our textbook is as dry as old bones," she said flatly, running her finger along the sails of a model pirate ship on her desk.

There was general laughter and a few students called out "duh" with evident gusto. Eve smiled, her eyes crinkling a little at the corners. She actually enjoyed her job quite a lot. Teaching high school students was not as harrowing as it often appeared. If you could figure out how to communicate (and sometimes commiserate) with your students, you were golden. Being a young teacher only a few years out of college, she was well-equipped to deal with the challenges presented to her on a daily and somtimes hourly basis. She felt horrified when she considered that someday she would be an old woman incapable of relating to her young charges.

"So – listen up – I propose that when you sit down to choose a topic for your paper and presentation you find something that we have not covered in class," she shouted, interrupting the chatter. "Find something that has not been rendered deathly boring by the textbook. Find something that fascinates you. Just make sure you stay within the allotted… time period."

The class groaned, but she assumed it was a perfunctory reaction rather than actual distaste for her assignment. She knew that each one of them could find something interesting if they thought about it. In fact, she mused, if they really –

"Excuse me, Miss Destin?" Her thoughts were interrupted by a young blond boy.

"Yes, Peter, what can I do for you," she said, glancing up at the young man over her glasses.

"Well, um, I was wondering. D'you have any good ideas for a project? I mean, I don't know…. I don't like history. Sorry, I mean it's…" the boy trailed off.

"That's alright, Pete. Not everyone likes history. What are your other interests?" she asked him, hoping for something to latch onto.

"Um, I like fantasy, y'know, like _Lord of the Rings_ and all… magic, adventure… mostly I like to draw and play video games, but usually just about magical things, and epic adventures, and…" He trailed off, his cheeks flushing.

Evie decided that this was why teaching the freshmen was worth the trouble. They were funny. Peter was clearly embarrassed to admit his amusements; most likely he thought they were childish. Thankfully, childish or not, they were something Eve could play into. It would be hard to find the right kind of magic in the pages of history for Peter, but she knew she could find the adventure easily.

"Pirates!" she exclaimed in what was almost a shout.

"W-what?" Pete stammered, stepping back a pace or two. He hadn't known his teacher could be so… loud.

"Pirates. You'll do your report on a famous pirate," she grinned at him. "Now, everyone's heard of the infamous Captain Jack Sparrow, and he's a colorful character but he's become something of a silly stereotype. If I may suggest someone with a little more substance, a little bit of depth and interest to him…. I suggest Captain Hector Barbossa. I won't tell you anything about him; find out for yourself. Come back to me and tell me what you think."

"Thanks, Miss D!" Pete said. "I wouldn't have thought of a pirate. I think history and I think, you know, boring old Romans or something… or the Industrial Revolution, or…."

He was out the door and into the hallway still mumbling. Evie was satisfied. She had at least one student with a topic; the rest would wander in next class period moaning about how hard it was to find something interesting. Thoughtfully she pulled a large, embossed hardcover book from a drawer in her desk. The book was simply called _Pirates _and it might have looked like something one would find in the bedroom of a young boy if it weren't for the heavy leather binding and gold leaf that marked it as a more grown-up book. Eve could never absently flip through the pages – she let the book fall open to her accustomed reading and glanced at the title – _Captain Hector Barbossa, Pirate Lord of the Caspian Sea. _

As far as Evie was concerned, he was the most fascinating pirate in history. Jack Sparrow, Sao Feng, Calico Jack, Anne Bonny, Elizabeth Swann… none of them could hold a candle to Hector Barbossa. He was wise and he was ruthless. All the tales of him pointed to a man who knew what he wanted and was not afraid of going after it. She liked that. Her favorite thing about Barbossa, though, was far more frivolous. He was always sailing in pursuit of a fairy tale. For whatever reason, this hard-bitten pirate captain would have been the most likely to believe in an old myth or a half-forgotten legend, and chase after it. And Evie loved that.

She snapped the book shut with a sigh, and began to pack her briefcase. This was the best semester she had ever had - her fourth hour freshman history was the last class of the day. The rest of the afternoon belonged solely to her until January when she had a seventh hour class, and she intended to make the most of every day of this little freedom. Of course she would end up grading more tests before anything else, otherwise she'd end up feeling guilty. But after that, the evening was hers. She considered having a few friends over, or just having a bath and a few glasses of wine…. She shrugged into her trench coat, grabbed her briefcase and hit the lights to her classroom.


	3. Chapter Two: A Long Journey

**A/N: **Just a short chapter for you... enjoy & review!

**Chapter Two: A Long Journey**

Tia Dalma threw her head back and sniffed the damp, warm air in the swamp. As she ventured further in, treading silently, it got darker and wetter until the night felt like a moist blanket all around her. She was carrying a bushel of firewood, and around her waist a velvety if threadbare bag was tied. Night creatures chattered and chirped all around her and she heard the rustle and drag of large reptiles, but they left her alone. The dark-skinned woman was searching for a place suitable for her purpose…. A ring of trees soon became visible to her, and in the middle of the ring was a charred and blackened space. This was the spot.

She threw down her load and prowled the edge of the ring, testing. Once satisfied she arranged the firewood carefully, and struck a flint to light the dry tinder. When the blaze had reached its peak she untied the velvety pouch from her waist and reach inside. She withdrew her hand with a fine, dry powder crumbling between her fingers – a powder of a most unnatural color and scent. She raised it to her face and inhaled deeply. It was a spicy aroma, like cinnamon and cloves, with a crisp yet unidentifiable freshness behind it… and a little hint of musk and vanilla. It was altogether intoxicating.

"Powdered heart of lover, of one who had de truest love – that should do it," Tia Dalma cackled. She circled the fire widdershins thrice, and stood with her feet planted wide. She spoke loud and clear in a language long dead before flinging the powder into the inferno. Immediately a scent and a haze came over the clearing, and Tia Dalma's eyes slid from focus. She was aware that she could not abandon her human form, but she cast her spirit as far as she could, tentatively seeking in this direction and that. Soon she found a rip, or a tear, in something invisible and intangible. A small passageway, she found, with just the slightest breeze slipping through. From this place, she could go anywhere.

_Time._

"Ah…" she sighed. She felt a painful tug at her bones as she thrust her spirit through the slight opening, and then she was free. She would deal with the consequences later. Just now, she thought to herself, she had to find a woman mad enough to love Hector Barbossa. Fortunately that kind of madness seemed singular, and with the powdered heart of truest love, she had hopes of locating this unusual woman with relative ease. Not only did true love favor lovers – this powder could help one find their heart's desire. It was the magic behind Jack's compass. She relaxed her mind and let it flow over her surroundings, searching. The world, she realized, was not the same. It was not quiet. It was not at peace. Still, that was not her concern. She kept searching.

"Aha!" the sound escaped lips that she no longer controlled, centuries away, as she felt her spirit catch like a ship on a snag upon the woman she needed. Tia Dalma gathered her will and swept like a hurricane through the dimly lit rooms of a small apartment until she found the bedroom and the woman, reclining in her bed with a large book on her lap. Then, in one last gust of energy, Tia Dalma wrapped around the woman and pulled back towards her immobile body in the swamp.


	4. Chapter Three: A Strange Discovery

**A/N: **Does anyone know a rough timeline of PotC? I actually don't know when DMC is actually supposed to be set, so I had to choose a year between 1655 when England acquired Port Royal and the earthquake in 1692. 'Twas a total shot in the dark. ;

**Chapter Three: A Strange Discovery**

Tia Dalma hit the ground with a dull cracking feeling in all of her bones. She had stretched herself to her limits, being unable to use her powers to their full extent. Her body ached. Her mind ached. Even her soul – it ached. She decided it was best not to move, not for a few minutes at least. She would wait, she would breathe. Eventually her strength would return, and then she could deal with the woman.

It was dark. Everything was dark. It was damp, too. Evie kept her eyes shut rather tightly and moved her right hand an inch or two at a time, feeling the solid earth underneath her. Everything smelled different; sounded different. This was most assuredly not where she had been just moments before, and she knew it. The question remained, where was she? She was going to have to open her eyes some time, she just knew it. So she opened them a crack at first, and then a little wider until the dim light filtered into her brown eyes. She waited until she could see properly, with her eyes adjusted to the half-light. Cautiously she sat up and began to survey her surroundings.

She was deep in some kind of swampy forest, the likes of which she'd never seen before. The remains of an awesome bonfire smoldered before her and there were bent and twisted trees surrounding her. She glanced upwards. She could see the velvety dark sky and all of the bright stars. She never could recognize constellations, but she knew that stars only shone as bright as those above her when one was out in the middle of nowhere, with no bright lights or cities anywhere near. Small animal noises floated through the air but oddly – very oddly – there were no car noises. She sat and listened for a few minutes. There were no plane noises either.

She had never been anywhere this quiet or dark in her entire life. Even the country roads surrounding her old summer home had had the occasional midnight traveler – some farmer on his way home from the bar, his headlights cutting through the night as he drove along. This was so different from any other experience she had had… it was eerie. A sudden cough from her left made her jump with a sharp intake of breath that made her cough as well, as if in response. She whipped her head around and found that she wasn't alone in this place, wherever it was. There was a dark-skinned, dread-locked woman in a ratty but still somehow elegant dress stretched out on the ground a few paces away, her breathing so shallow it was almost imperceptible.

The woman was a strange sight, but Evie was glad not to be alone. She got on her hands and knees – she didn't trust herself to stand quite yet – and crawled over to her new companion. She surveyed the woman further. There were odd markings on the woman's face, like tribal tattoos. Her lips were slightly parted to reveal blackened teeth that made Evie recoil slightly. The woman smelled like musk and sweat. Evie was concerned, but she realized that she was also slightly afraid of this woman.

"Um, excuse me?" Evie said softly. "Hello? Are you alright? Can you hear me?"

The woman twitched, opening her eyes ever so slightly and glancing up at Evie. Then she closed her eyes again, and breathed very deeply. It was minutes before the woman raised herself up on her elbows, but to Evie it felt like hours. She wasn't sure if this woman was a friend, or someone to fear. Either way she knew she had nobody else to question as to their whereabouts. She waited. Finally the woman sat up, and then stood swaying only a little and regarding Evie with evident interest.

"So," the woman began. "You be her who can help me, hm?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Evie replied nervously. "Who are you, please, and where are we?"

The woman laughed, a rich cackle. "I be Tia Dalma, da one who bring you here, Eve Destin. We here in dis swamp, here in da Caribbean, in Jamaica. And you to be goin' somewhere else soon."

Evie glanced at Tia Dalma and thought that none of that speech had boded particularly well. Regardless, when she saw the woman begin to sashay through the trees and off into the inky darkness, she followed. Eventually they arrived at a structure that could only be called a hut, and Eve could only assume the hut belonged to Tia. Inside was well-lit, dry and crowded with all manner of cultural detritus. It was interesting and it piqued Evie's historical curiosity but as she surveyed the contents of the small building, she noticed something. There wasn't a single item that looked _new_, nothing that to Evie spoke of any period later than the 17th century.

"Tia Dalma," she said suddenly, turning to face the other woman who was rummaging in a large wooden trunk, "Could you tell me a little more about, ah, why I'm here?"

Tia Dalma spun and narrowed her eyes, surveying Eve quietly before turning back to her trunk. Evie waited for an answer, still examining the items nearest her with curiosity. She cleared her throat and decided to try again.

"Tia Dalma, I would appreciate it if you could tell me where we are, not to mention _when _we are, as well as why I'm here. After all, you say I'm supposed to be able to help you…."

"Ye-e-e-s," came the drawn out reply. "You be her who can help me, you be da one who can get him dat I need from de other side."

"I beg your pardon!" Evie exclaimed. What, she wondered, could this woman be talking about?

"I be needin' someone back from de other side. You be da one to go dere and find him," Tia Dalma said, flashing a grin like a Cheshire cat over her shoulder before she continued. "As to de more mundane questions, I tol' you – we in Jamaica in da Caribbean… in da year 1672."

Evie had previously thought that 'feeling all of the blood drain from your face' was just an expression, but upon hearing Tia Dalma's last statement she learned that it was not, in fact, _just _an expression. She promptly plopped down on the floor, next to something that looked awfully like a shrunken head. Strangely, the head didn't bother her as she sat there mutely. What bothered her was the fact that she half-believed Tia Dalma's pronouncement and she had no way to reassure herself that it was untrue. She looked up at the dark-skinned woman, who had not paused her activities.

"There's no way," she breathed. "No way. Time travel is something for stories, for books. Books! It's not real."

Tia Dalma turned again and looked down at the woman sitting on the floor with her knees hugged to her chest. _Da poor girl, _she thought to herself. _She in shock, she a little hysterical. _She heaved a sigh and crossed her arms.

"Evie," she said. "Dis be happenin' whetha' you believe or not. One way or de otha, you be here. Now talk to me, girl. What you be knowin' about Hector Barbossa?"


	5. Chapter Four: A Journey Into The Dark

**A/N:** Whew, sorry about the delay! Classes started and suddenly I have homework. Here is chapter four; I hope you enjoy it! Read and review, please!

**Chapter Four: A Journey Into the Dark**

"Now talk to me, girl. What you be knowin' about Hector Barbossa?" Tia Dalma's voice was oddly comforting; her tone had turned from a mocking cadence to a soft earnestness that calmed Evie's nerves for a moment.

_Barbossa? _She wondered. _What does he have to do with anything?_

"A lot," Tia Dalma answered her as if reading her thoughts. "Barbossa is one o' da nine – "

" – nine pirate lords, yes, I know!" Eve exclaimed. "But… you said you need to get someone… from the other side?"

"Y-e-e-s," Tia spat. "And he be da one! De fool of a man gone and got hisself shot."

Evie cocked an eyebrow at the venom in Tia's voice. She wondered privately what Hector Barbossa could mean to Tia Dalma. Then she did some quick thinking. Digging through her mind to unearth little facts that were tucked into the corners, cheek by jowl with larger and seemingly more relevant information, she found that the dates didn't match up.

"Hector Barbossa isn't supposed to be dead yet," she said slowly. "He's not supposed to be dead for quite some time. How can – "

She was interrupted by an impatient click of Tia Dalma's teeth as the other woman whirled around, apparently deciding to continue her original task rather than dealing with Evie's slowness. She persisted in ignoring Eve, instead collecting herbs and other items that she knew to be useful in such things as scrying and summoning, sniffing them gingerly from time to time. She would figure out a way to make this work at any expense. She turned to face the woman still huddled on her floor when she heard an intake of breath.

"Oh." Evie exclaimed breathlessly. "You've got to be kidding. You couldn't mean to say… you can't expect… I mean, he's supposed to die in 1692. You can't possibly tell me that the only reason he'll be able to die in 1692 is… is… you're going to bring him back to life… now?"

"You are," Tia said. She appraised the look of shock on Eve's face before continuing with apparent relish. "I be helpin' you get dere. You be doin' the bringin' for me."

"Why me?"

Tia's head snapped up to regard the woman Eve, who was now struggling to her feet. Laying all of the articles she had collected out on a rough, stained wooden table, she gathered her thoughts and spoke.

"In de swamp out dere I be searchin' for you," Tia began in her sing-song voice. "I be searchin' for you with de heart of a lova'. Dat's because only de heart of one who had de truest love can find another who have it. It find de heart's desire easy as dat." She snapped her fingers together, gleaming eyes still fixed on Evie. "Even I not be knowin' how it works, but it does and it bring me you."

"Presumably," Evie began slowly. "because I … what, because I 'love' Hector Barbossa?"

Tia just smiled; a catlike grin that moved fluidly across her face. Then she nodded. "You must, girl, because you be here."

Evie laughed in disbelief. She laughed so hard that she was forced to sit once more, as her knees had inconveniently given out on her. _This is incredible, _she thought wildly. _I don't even _know _this man! I know of him and I know about him, but I don't know him. How could I love him? _

"Don't be askin' me, girl," Tia again answered as if she could hear the thoughts in Evie's mind. "But you be lovin' him. Figurin' out de why or de how, dat's your problem. Now, follow."

Tia had packaged all of her things into a small makeshift satchel and tied it closed with a leather thong. She rummaged into a large, forbidding trunk and pulled out a heavy book that looked to be bound in leather, and handed it to Evie. As soon as her hands hit the binding of the large tome Eve recoiled and almost dropped it. The leather had an oily feel – and a primitive looking tattoo marked one corner of the book. She fought the urge to vomit.

"Tia Dalma," she said weakly, gesturing to the book. "Is it…?"

"'Uman skin," Tia answered calmly. "A Grimoire."

* * *

Somehow Evie managed to follow Tia, stumbling a little in the dark, and eventually she found that she recognized the small clearing they were approaching. It was the same one that she had, well, appeared in earlier. _How long have I been here? _She wondered with a sudden surge of panic. Surely time hadn't stopped back in her own time – she had no reason to believe it would. She vaguely hoped no one was worried about her before following Tia Dalma into the circle of trees. 

The large bonfire that had greeted her upon her arrival was now a large pit of cold ashes. There was no sign that anything out of the ordinary had happened just hours ago – at least Evie thought it was hours ago. For all she knew, she realized, it could have been years. It certainly felt like it. Time had been moving slowly, interspersed here and there with short bursts where everything moved to fast. Evie bent down and leaned the Grimoire against a twisted tree, shuddering once more at the heavy, oily feel of the cover.

"Come." Tia Dalma commanded her, seeing that she was standing idle. "You can make yaself useful now. We be needin' firewood."

After they had gathered what Tia deemed a sufficient amount, Eve sat and watched warily as the other woman struck a flint several times to set the wood alight. She wasn't quite sure how wood from a swamp was going to be dry enough to make a fire – but then, she realized, if Tia Dalma could drag her across time and quite a bit of space she could probably light a fire if she wanted. Tia chuckled, again reinforcing the idea that she could read minds when it suited her.

"Ah, Tia Dalma, how exactly is this supposed to work," Evie said falteringly, perceiving that another fire signified her approaching removal to… elsewhere. She wasn't sure what the sorceress expected her to do – or what she expected herself to do. Being dragged into a different time with a guide who could explain it was one thing. Being sent forth into God only knows what to meet with God only knows what or whom was an entirely different thing altogether. To say that Evie was nervous would have failed to capture the sweaty-palmed heart-palpitating truth of the matter. Tia coaxed the fire to a blazing inferno before deigning to answer Evie's question.

"I be sendin' you da way ya came," Tia began, her voice thick from the smoke that was billowing around the clearing. "But you be goin' alone. Where you goin' right now I canna follow. I don' know how ya goin' to do it, but ya must find Barbossa."

The dark woman rifled through her voluminous skirts for a moment, searching the pockets for something. She triumphantly removed a worm-looking compass from a hidden pouch, and a small bag from another. Eve watched dubiously as the other woman took a fine, dry powder from the bag and sprinkled it on the compass, speaking words in a language so long-dead that Evie had no idea what it could be. The compass glowed briefly, a warm reddish light emanating from the needle. The light subsided so quickly that it might have been an illusion.

"Take dis; it will guide ya to whateva your heart desire most," Tia said matter-of-factly.

"And hopefully for you that will be Hector Barbossa, hm?" Eve mused. "But this isn't about loving him at all, is it? You can't go yourself – and I won't ask you why – so you're willing to send me risking my life to run your errands. I don't have a choice, obviously, but I'm not going to do this for you, Tia Dalma."

Tia eyed the pale woman, leery now. _Perhaps da girl is stronga den I thought, _she mused with a smile creeping along her countenance like a sly night-creature. She whirled through the smoke to circle the fire widdershins thrice, just as she had earlier that same evening. She spoke the same words in the same dead language, and then she threw the powder into the fire breathing deep of the intoxicating aroma rising from the flames. Evie couldn't help but breathe in that enthralling scent – she had no idea what it might be, but it made her feel wonderful.

She was suddenly light-headed and dreamily detached from her body, yet perfectly lucid. She could see the fire raging before her and feel the heat; she observed Tia Dalma's eyes watching her carefully. She heard Tia's voice ring out towards her, and felt the words wrap themselves around her bones, tugging and urging. Suddenly, with the feeling of an opening wound, she slipped from her body and felt a chill that had nothing to do with this sudden nakedness. There was, in the pit of the fire, a great dark rift. It had jagged edges, she observed, like something that had been torn with great force and would take greater force still to mend. Even as she observed it, she found herself gravitating towards it as she imagined matter in space must be drawn to a black hole.

At the edge of the rift she felt a great snapping, like the feeling of breaking cartilage, and she was through. She could no longer see or sense the fire, or Tia Dalma, or anything familiar.

Everything was dark.


	6. Chapter Five: The Gatekeeper of the Dead

**Chapter Five: The Gatekeeper of the Dead**

Tia Dalma stood warm by the bonfire, watching Eve closely as the deep black rift opened in the fire. The powdered heart had done its work – the girl was not yet afraid of the yawning abyss before her. Suddenly there was a snapping, cracking noise and Tia Dalma narrowed her eyes to see Eve's spirit, or her soul, detach from her body and drift towards the blackness. In the sweltering damp of the Jamaican swamp Eve's body now stood like a sculpture of lightly veined Carrara marble. As Tia moved forward to investigate, she observed a layer of frost glimmering on Evie's motionless form.

She nodded once in apparent satisfaction, then sat down and prepared herself to wait and watch as long as it took.

* * *

_Everything was dark. _

_Everything was cold. _

There was no up or down, no way to orient herself to her new surroundings. Evie waited, floating in the amniotic darkness, hoping that she would soon be able to find out where she was. Minutes might have passed, or hours, but nothing changed. _If this is the 'other side', _she thought to herself cynically, _it's a bloody boring place to be stuck in for all eternity. _She began to amuse herself by recalling every fact she had read about the Caribbean, the islands, and the pirates who had sailed among them. Given her current quest for the one and only Captain Hector Barbossa she began to consider his life, and the death he would have if she succeeded here.

He was supposed to die in the earthquake that had – that _would, _she corrected herself – destroy two-thirds of the city of Port Royal, the "city that sank". She suddenly remembered an old tale about the city – that one could hear the bells of the drowned churches of Port Royal when a storm was coming, ringing for the souls of the damned pirates. As she considered this idea, she realized that the darkness had dissipated into a grayish twilight, and that the darkness she was floating in was in fact some form of water. Apparently she had grown gills, or perhaps left her lungs behind her somewhere, because she felt no need to breathe.

Instead she began to examine what she could see of her surroundings. There was no source that she could identify for the light – it seemed to be coming from everywhere at once, and dimly. _No way to know which way is up, _she grumbled mentally. Assuming down to be the direction of her feet (she did a quick double-take: yes, she had feet still), she peered off into the depths. There, faintly glimmering leagues beneath her, was a city. She could see the spires of churches and the roofs of the other miscellaneous buildings that comprise civilization, but there were no people.

She felt an inexorable pull towards the desolate city the longer she looked. The aching, tugging draw of the city made her feel ill in some way she couldn't identify, and she began to kick towards what she considered 'up' in the hopes that she might come to the surface. That city, whatever it was, was not a place she wanted to be. She swam farther and farther when she was abruptly snatched up by a strong current running through the otherwise placid water around her. Not knowing where she was or where she ought to go, she relaxed and let the current take her. Somewhere deep below she heard the eerie sound of church bells pealing, and she shuddered inwardly.

The current carried her swiftly away from the unnatural city. She saw no others like it, and had no indication of how far or how fast she was traveling. Eventually she fell into an uneasy sleep, only to wake lying like driftwood on a small, sandy shoal. The sand felt pleasantly warm against her cheek and her hair was damply plastered to her forehead and neck. Slowly she pushed herself into an upright position, fighting the drowsiness that the warm sand was causing.

She looked around curiously: she could now see that the shoal she was sitting on formed a small island in the midst of a vast, black river. Here and there were patches of mist skimming along the smooth surface of the water, and in the distance she thought she could make out banks of the same fine, gray-black sand. The darkness, which had been absolute at first but abated near the city, was now encroaching once more. The banks of the river were shrouded in darkness and patches of smoky mist, both of which undulated like something alive. Then Eve realized that something was indeed alive; she could not see it but she could hear its stertorous breathing. Her stomach clenched in sudden apprehension, but she willed herself to speak.

"He-hello?" Evie bit her lip; her voice sounded unnaturally loud.

The rasping breaths continued.

"Hello? Is someone there? Please, answer me," she called.

The breathing ceased. A deep, ominous laughter replaced it. The very sound sent a bolt of fear down Eve's back to coil at the base of her spine, and the stench of carrion suddenly permeated the air.

"Who wakes me?" A voice demanded out of the shadows.

"My name is Eve," Evie answered more boldly than she felt, trying to fight the nausea caused by the stench of putrescence.

"Life," a second voice chuckled mirthlessly. "What is your business here, Eve who is life? This is not the land of the living."

"I'm aware of that, thank you," she replied carefully, wondering at this new voice. "I – wait, with whom am I speaking? I have told you my name, I would ask yours in return."

There was a long, heavy pause. Eve bit her lip once more, hoping she had not just done something foolish. She did not want this thing, or things, to know that she was ill-prepared to be speaking with it, or them, or that she was nervous – though she felt that both were obvious.

"I am called Kerberos," a third voice stated flatly. "I do not know if that is my 'name'."

"Ah," Eve made a sudden small noise of comprehension. "Are you the same Kerberos known to the Greeks? The Hellenes, I mean?"

All three voices laughed in unison. The sound was far from comforting. The scent of decay wafted over the water, enveloping Eve. She covered her mouth and nose with one hand until the feeling of sickness passed.

"I am," the voices said as one. "It has been an age or more since any who passed this way have known me, _Eve. _But you have not answered my question. What is your business here in the realm of Hades?"

"I… I'm searching for someone," she said softly, knowing that this was the wrong answer to give to the guardian of Hades. "I must find someone and… and restore them to life."

A chorus of deep growling sounded from the opaque blackness, causing the glassy surface of the river to ripple. Suddenly a solid mass of inky blackness thrust forward, and the three great heads of Kerberos came into view. Eve stumbled backward, into the marrow-freezing water of the river. The reek of carrion-breath was unbearable, and the eyes! The immense, deep-socketed eyes had neither irises nor pupils: each one glowed with the hell fire burning deep within.

Evie back away as fast as possible while still keeping her eyes on the baying hounds' heads. One of the heads was saying something, but she couldn't make out the words through the howls of the other two, and her own splashing. She moved backwards until finally, the current snatched her up. She let her muscles relax in the strong pull of the water, and heard the watchdog of Hades call after her, with three voices as one:

"Once you have passed the First Gate you will not be able to return this way!"

"What in God's name is the First Gate?" Evie said indignantly to the empty space around her. The current was faster the farther she got from the city; she was already well away from Kerberos. With a sigh she lay back in the water, then thrashed as upright as possible.

"What the _hell_ was that?!"


	7. Chapter Six: Dead Men Walking

**A/N: **Well, it's about time. I'm sorry it's taking so long to get so little out here. I have... a... _life _all of a sudden.

**Chapter Six: Dead Men Walking**

The dead woman was drifting slowly just under the surface of the water, her flesh green-tinged and soft with rot. Her fair hair floated around her face like an exotic sea plant. Eve felt a wave of revulsion and pity roll through her gut. She reached out a tentative hand to touch the woman's face. As her finger brushed the soft cheek the woman's eyelids fluttered revealing the empty sockets and her decaying mouth opened in a voiceless shriek. Evie wrenched her hand away and kicked back from the woman, feeling bile rise in her throat. Her fear of her destination was dulled by her need to be far away from that terrifying corpse. She swam until she felt a change in the water.

The current idled and died away, leaving her standing shakily in water shallow enough to be gray. She glanced down and was pleasantly surprised to see her feet, planted firmly in the silky sand. Something shiny caught her eye and without thinking she plunged a hand into the water, just as someone else's hand drifted over object. As she brushed the hand aside the fingers closed on her wrist. With a yelp she tugged her arm back, but the hand held firm.

"Give it 'ere!" the man spluttered, using Evie's arm to yank himself from the river's grip.

"What _is _it?" Evie asked, wrenching her hand and her prize away from the man. He regarded at her with baleful eyes the color of pale cornflower.

"Mine," he said sourly.

"I doubt that," Evie said absently. "God's teeth, it's a tetradrachm! And it's in mint condition…. How in the word did it get here?"

She glanced up at the man, finally seeing him. He didn't look very dead, but he didn't look very alive either. He was dressed in the loose if soggy garb of a merchant sailor, his hair tied back with a leather thong. He had a short cane knife at his side, but no other visible weapon. Eve was intrigued.

"Did you say you wanted this coin?" she inquired.

"I did," the man replied. "It's mine."

"Well, perhaps you can help me, and then I can return it to you," Evie smiled. "I'm Eve. I'd like to know your name."

"Abernethy," the man replied with a dour expression on his face. "Arthur Abernethy."

"Thank you Mister Abernethy. Now, since you seem to have your wits about you, could you perhaps tell me what you know of this curious river we're in?"

"Don't know nothing," Abernethy said suspiciously. "Don't know how I got here, for one, don't know how to get out for 'nother. And I want my coin."

"You shall have it," Eve said patiently. "Mister Abernethy, there are other people… in… under the water. How is it you're standing here and not drifting in the water?"

"Don't know. All I remember is, felt your hand comin' down past me and grabbed ye, afore that…" Abernethy suppressed an involuntary shudder. "Dunno. Just floated around."

Abernethy seemed to be thinking carefully, so Eve said nothing. She truly hoped the dead man might have some insights as to his – well, their – predicament. He closed his eyes and furrowed his brow in concentration for a moment and Evie noted the pale green tinge of his flesh and the looseness of his fingernails. She fought down the rise of more bile in her throat.

"I remember," the sailor began. "I remember seein' some folk go by me in the water. T'was like they knew where to be goin' but not a one would stop and tell me, so I kept drifting. I figure eventually I'll get somewhere."

"I suppose so," Evie replied thoughtfully. "But, Abernethy, could you, um, could you try to remember what… er, how you… well… how you died?"

"Died?" the man seemed nonplussed. He seemed to think. Several moments passed before she heard a bubbling intake of breath. _Well, he drowned, at least, _she thought to herself.

"I think I know, miss. I was crew on the _Demeter _sailin' from Le Havre down to the islands an' when we got there – well. It were a pirate ship. A great fearsome thing with tatty black sails an' a crew o' men as would make the devil himself quake. Fierce, they was, an' ruthless an' bloodthirsty. Some o' the _Demeter_'s men jumped o'erboard but those as fought had their throats cut afore they were tossed to the sea."

Evie glanced at the man's throat – and blanched as she noticed the gash in his flesh, pale and rubbery and empty of blood.

"You fought," she stated blandly. "You are no coward, then, Abernethy. Tell me, please, do you know anything about the captain of the ship which attacked you?"

"Barbossa," Abernethy gave a sharp, ugly laugh. "Aye, I do now."

"Abernethy, I know this is probably the last thing you want to do, but hear me out – Barbossa is here somewhere, in this place. I've _got _to find him. Can you help?"

The seaman eyed her sourly once more, and rocked back on his heels. Evie bit her lip. Finally Abernethy shrugged.

"Give me my coin," he said, "and we'll be goin'."

Eve and the sailor Abernethy waded through the shallow gray water and combined their wits to see if there was some way they could find the dead pirate without having to search the whole of the wraith-realm themselves.

"I have an idea!" Evie exploded suddenly. Abernethy gave her a wary glance from under his scanty eyebrows. "Don't look at me like that – honestly, it might work. You used me to pull yourself from the grip of the river, right?"

"Ye-e-es," he acceded slowly.

"So, there are others in the water. If I can, er, wake them the way I did you and convince them to help us search, we might actually be able to find him. And even if they won't actively help us, isn't it possible that someone will have come across him anyway?"

"Could have done, I s'pose," Abernethy agreed reluctantly. "Try what ye will. Can't 'urt unless one o' the guardians hears of it. Cause a ruckus an' they won't be pleased."

"Oh, my brave Ulysses," Evie sighed. "What can they do to us at this point? I've already angered Kerberos and I don't seem the worse for it."

"Shows what you know," he muttered unhappily. "Who's Ulysses?"

Evie ignored him to pounce on a dead sailor swiftly drifting past them. She grabbed him by the arm and he began to thrash to the surface, reaching for a weapon that was no longer at his side. He eyed Evie and her companion warily.

"Qu'est-ce que vous voulez?" the tall black man spat.

"Great," Evie muttered. "Nous … recherchons le Captain Barbossa. L'avez-vous vu?"

"Je ne sais rien de cet Captain Barbossa," the man said, still eyeing them with evident distrust. "Desolée"

"Parlez-vous anglais?" Evie questioned hopefully. She hadn't taken French since high school and felt that she couldn't keep this conversation up much longer.

"Some," the man replied.

"Could you, ah, help us, please? By asking after Captain Barbossa as you go?" Evie resisted once again that impulse to bite her lip and waited as the man folded his arms and narrowed his eyes in thought.

"I will ask. But do not expect much." Then he was gone, pulled back into the river.

"Good work. We'll only 'ave to do that about a million more times before we turn summat up." Abernethy glowered.

"Oh ye of little faith!" Eve laughed, hoping the sailor wasn't totally correct. "Let's keep moving."

It felt like hours had passed since their first attempt at enlisting help. Eve wondered idly how long it had been since she had arrived in this… place. It had to be days, but there was no way to judge time in the grayish twilights and pitch-darks that dominated the landscape of the river. Abernethy kept up a constant stream of dour predictions of their doom. Evie knew it would be useless to strangle him, but she was tempted nonetheless.

In her mental checklist Evie totted up the sailors, maids, and murdered men they had pulled from the river and instructed. If they all did as they were asked, threatened or cajoled to do, someone somewhere would get word to Barbossa that he was wanted. Evie just hoped that he would be curious enough to search for them. On the other hand, she doubted somewhat the ability of the dead people to remember things – at least once they sank back into the river. Abernethy was still quite right in the head, if grim and doomful, but he was walking with her. She put out a hand and touched his shoulder just in case.

He twitched. "Eh?"

"Do you think it's going to work? I mean, do you think that Barbossa will c – " Abernethy cut her off with a slimy hand on her wrist. He pointed into the vaporous distance.

"I only '_ope_ it's Barbossa what's coming," he replied in an apprehensively hushed voice.

"Oh my…"


End file.
